by M. S. Parker
My head was still spinning with all the information he’d just thrown at me and I rubbed my temple, processing it.
“Or you might already have plans.”
“No,” I said absently. In the past, my friends and I usually spent the day together, but this year, they were all busy with their significant others. I'd toyed with the idea of going to a club, but I hadn't made any decisions. “I don’t have plans. I’m just…thinking.”
“I know we need to get this done, but I’m needed at the studio too much right now.”
Grimacing at the phone, I looked down at the neatly written out schedule on my calendar that Haley always kept up to date. It wasn’t like my days were exactly open. If he was going to push for me to come to him, then actually, the Fourth of July was probably the best bet anyway.
“If you can’t make it to my office between then and now, I believe that’s probably the best solution,” I said after a moment. Grabbing a pen, I asked for the address.
He gave it, and then ended the call with a terse, “See you then.”
I was torn between irritation and the anticipation I knew I shouldn’t feel. The last thing I needed to feel was excitement over seeing him again, but there it was.
Chapter Ten
Leslie
Absolutely nobody but me and my mirror would ever know that I’d spent nearly an hour picking an outfit that wasn’t too casual or too dressy. Since it was the Fourth, and I didn’t plan on going to the office, I’d gone for a ‘casual Friday’ sort of feel, a pair of white capris and a dressy red camisole with a white waist-length jacket for when I was inside.
It was cute, comfortable and casual – and the capris showcased both my legs and my ass.
Not that I wanted Paxton to notice my ass.
He’d already noticed it.
Ignoring that voice, I turned my keys over to the valet, muttering a quick hallelujah that there was valet service available today. Trying to find a place to park on the Fourth was nightmarish.
Paxton had given me a code and told me to ask the valet for the studio entrance. There was an elevator that would take me straight up to the floor where the studio was, and I wouldn’t have any trouble getting inside. I punched it in, and the door opened without a hitch.
Parking had been a breeze. Getting inside had been a breeze. I could only wish that someone had told my body. My nerves were going haywire, jumping and jittering around inside my belly. I hadn't felt this on edge about a meeting with a client since my very first one, and that case of butterflies had been for an entirely different reason.
The elevator had a second, separate code, and I punched it in, then stepped inside and closed my eyes.
I’m meeting a client. That’s it. Just a client. I wasn't going on a date. So far, he was oblivious to me as anything other than a lawyer. Well, other than the time I'd caught him checking out my ass. But that just meant he had a pulse.
I'd almost talked myself down when the elevator doors slid silently open, and I stepped out to find Paxton in the wide-open hallway. He was alone, or at least it looked like it.
He looked like he was waiting for me too.
“I'm not late, am I?”
Before a new set of nerves could settle in, Paxton shook his head. “No. Security is set up to alert me when somebody gets in the elevator. I heard you coming.”
His eyes swept over me, seeming to linger in certain places, before moving to rest on the bulging file that I had tucked up against my side. I thought he was going to ask something, but instead, he abruptly turned on his heel, jerking his head to indicate that I should follow.
“I need coffee. You drink coffee?”
“Who doesn't?”
His response was a short laugh, and the sound of it warmed something inside me. I tried not to look at his ass as he turned the corner. When I caught up with him, I found myself in a bright, open kitchen area. I stared, feeling more than a little off balance. I’d had more than a few well -off clients, but Paxton Gorham wasn’t well off.
He was loaded.
Half my apartment could fit in the spot alone. “Do you…own this studio?”
He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Partially. The guys who play with me, and a few other groups, we all went in together and bought it. We prefer to be in charge of our own music.” He stopped at the counter and reached for a pot of coffee. It was half-full, and he lifted it to his nose, sniffed it, before lowering it with a shudder. “I'm making fresh. This stuff could power a diesel engine by now.”
As he dumped it out, I said gamely, “You should probably just give it to me. I need the charge.”
“Nobody should do that to their stomach.”
I sat down at a table, watching as he went about making coffee with the competence of a pro. He didn't look uncomfortable with the task. It was surprising, I had to admit, but then I wanted to kick myself. Just because he was a mega-rich rock star didn't mean he couldn't take care of basic tasks by himself. Besides, he hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I'd done my research on him as well as Brinke.
It paid to do that when you were a lawyer. Cut down on the surprises. He’d grown up rough, both parents getting in trouble for possession and assault – on each other more often than not – plus resisting arrest and the typical petty criminal’s laundry list of crimes. Paxton had a few issues of his own, some of them the same as his parents, including assault and drug charges, but he’d straightened his act up seven years ago. Right about the time he would have found out he was going to be a dad, if my calculations were correct. He’d gone in for rehab and when he'd come out, he hadn’t gotten in any trouble, period. He was like an after-school special on turning your life around.
No, I shouldn’t be surprised that he could fend for himself with typical things, like making a pot of coffee. He probably lived on the stuff, especially since he didn't do drugs anymore.
It didn't escape my notice that while he was comfortable with the task, he wasn't relaxed. There was a fine tension to his body, something that kept his shoulders rigid, and while he kept his face averted, I could see how it kept clenching and clenching his jaw.
“If you're not ready to do this, or if you're having second thoughts, we can reschedule this.”
Paxton shook his head. He shifted, reaching into a cabinet. With almost deliberate care, he took out a pair of mugs and set them on the counter. Once that was done, he braced his hands on the surface next to them, lowering his head. His wide shoulders strained the faded material of his t-shirt as he took one, then another, deep breath.
“I'm not going to change my mind, Leslie. I should've done this a long time ago. But that doesn't mean any of this is easy. Brinke and I have been together a long time.”
I couldn't say that I understood. I'd never had a relationship longer than a couple of months. Ever.
“Okay.” Looking away from him, I reached into my bag and pulled out the information Kowalski put together for me.
The woman must've been crazy, I couldn't help but think, to throw away a life with that man and a beautiful little girl. A part of me wondered how long he'd been trying to make it work, but it wasn't my place to ask. My job was to facilitate a divorce and make it as smooth as I could for him.
And make sure his crazy ex didn't get custody of their daughter.
The scent of coffee filled the air after another moment, and I kept myself busy organizing, and then reorganizing everything I brought with me. By the time I finished, Paxton came over and placed a mug of coffee in front of me.
“You drink it black or do you take anything with it?”
“Black. I used to drink it loaded, but law school pretty much help me kick that habit. Cramming and a tight budget doesn’t always…” I stopped and shrugged, forced a laugh. “Well, college students and budgets. Familiar story.”
What was wrong with me? When had I developed the habit of running off at the mouth like that? I liked to talk, but it was never babbling. Chatting with a client
to make them feel more comfortable was one thing, but telling one of them bits and pieces of my life was a different matter altogether. I needed to pull myself together.
“Why don’t you sit down so we can get started?”
“I don't do well sitting still. If you don't mind, I'll move around.” And he proceeded to do that, moving over to the window that faced out over the city.
In his defense, it was one hell of a view, but it wasn't going to shield him from the nastiness he was about to see. It would be easier if he’d sit and read the report, look at the pictures, so I didn't have to say any of it.
“Of course.” I took a sip of coffee, finding to my delight that it was extremely good. After putting it down, I reached for the report from Kowalski. “I have a pretty thorough report from the private investigator I hired. It might be easier if you just read it.”
Paxton lowered his head, and I had a feeling he didn't want to know what was in the report. I didn't blame him.
“Can you just cut to the chase and make it short?” He sounded so tired.
So much for hoping for the easy way. “Yes.” I needed to make it fast, like ripping off the Band-Aid. “The investigator's findings support my original opinion that it’d be best to immediately pursue full custody and request that the court limit her mother’s rights to supervised visits, only after she’s gone through a court-mandated, supervised drug rehabilitation program. After she's proven herself responsible, you can revisit the custody agreement.”
As he turned to stare at me, his eyes hard, I looked down. In this job, I often had to speak hard truths, but this was harder than usual.
“Mr. Gorham, I'm sorry, and I'm sure you're aware of this, but your wife has a serious problem and she's placing your daughter in jeopardy.”
“Look,” he said, his voice rough. “Brinke loves our daughter. Yeah, I know she's got a fucking problem. Why else do you think I'm divorcing her? I already said I should've done it a long time ago. But she wouldn't do anything intentionally to hurt Carter.”
“In all likelihood, you're right.” I needed to be careful here. “The problem is, your wife's problem has made her reckless, very reckless. I’m not sure she even understands how careless, how thoughtless she has become.”
As his eyes continued to flash, I took a deep breath and reached for the pictures from the day at the toy store. “Perhaps you should look at this. Would you please sit down? Even just for a few moments? You need to understand what I'm talking about.”
Ten minutes later, the silence was starting to get to me. I'd explained everything that Kowalski had detailed in his report, everything he had explained to me. Paxton had gone through the pictures now three separate times. Now he held one. His fingers had brushed over the little girl’s face before he'd plucked the picture up and now he was staring at it, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.
I knew exactly which image it was – the one where Brinke had picked up their daughter and hugged her, the silver pouch clearly visible above the partially opened zipper of the backpack. The picture that had showed his wife using their daughter to commit a crime.
As I watched, he slowly crumbled the photo in his fist. When he relaxed his fingers, the image fell to the floor and his gaze slid to mine.
I needed to fill the silence. Opening my mouth, uncertain what was going to come back out, I started with just his name.
That was where I really screwed up. I shouldn’t have used his name. “Paxton...”
His pupils spiked, flared. “See. That wasn't so hard. You can say my name just fine.”
The sudden rush of color that flooded my cheeks was humiliating. I wasn't some naïve, inexperienced kid fresh out of high school. Although sometimes he made me feel like one. “Whether or not I can say your name isn't the point.”
“Trust me, I know what the fucking point is.”
He shot up, shoving a hand through already tumbled hair. His booted foot kicked something, the picture. He bent down and grabbed it, hurling it across the room. It didn’t go far.
“Where was Alex when all this was happening?”
Alex? Right, the nanny. “My PI said that these were times when Brinke sent Alex out to do something. That picture,” I gestured toward the floor, “was taken after Alex was sent back to get something for Carter that was left behind.”
Paxton started to pace. “So Brinke could put drugs in Carter’s backpack without Alex seeing.”
“More than likely. A good lawyer could argue that – ”
“Fuck arguments.” He turned, his eyes narrow. “That little silver clutch? She calls that her party bag. She’s had it forever. There were a few times when we both got wasted on the shit she’d have tucked inside there. I know damn well what she carries in it.” He shook his head, the pain obvious in his eyes. “I kept hoping after Carter that she’d get clean. I did. I wised up, knew I couldn’t live like that with a kid. But Brinke…”
He stopped and spun away, slamming a fist on the counter.
The ferocity of it startled me, but I understood it.
Using a child that way...your own child...
Even as I was trying to figure out something to say to him, he came back to the table and pulled out the chair, sitting back down. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice flat. “None of this is your fault. I just…”
Unable to stop myself, I reached out a hand.
Touching him would be a mistake, and I knew it even before I did it.
I did it anyway.
Brushing my fingers down his wrist, I tried to smile, to make it a harmless gesture, but it was too late. I’d already touched him, and the shock of it went through me like lightning.
Slowly, I withdrew my hand and busied myself with reorganizing the photos, hoping my face didn't show what I was feeling. “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t have children myself, but I can’t imagine how outraged I’d be if I were in your shoes.”
He didn’t say anything, and when I looked up, he was staring at me.
Look away.
I couldn’t do it though. Just like I hadn’t been able to not touch him.
His gaze lowered to my mouth.
My heart skipped a beat – then a few more. Again. As it started to race away inside my chest, I sucked in a deep breath.
Was he –?
The phone rang and the moment fractured, then splintered into a hundred pieces.
Chapter Eleven
Paxton
That mouth of hers had driven me crazy almost from the very minute we’d met. If I was smart, I would have gone and found some boring, suit and tie lawyer, somebody who charged thousands on the hour and didn't make me think about bending her over her desk...
I’d chosen the attorney in Queens partly because she was in Queens, damn far from anywhere Brinke or her friends would be seen and because Leslie had looked…sharp. Her picture had jumped out at me from the ad in the phone book, looking like somebody who wouldn’t be manipulated by Brinke’s games. Like somebody who knew how to play those games herself and win.
But that mouth…
Yeah, if I'd been smart, I would have just found somebody else after the initial consult.
Now, a split second away from kissing her, I told myself again…Fire her. Find somebody else.
I wouldn’t though. She was too damn good.
The phone rang.
Her eyes widened for a brief moment, then her lashes swept low, shielding the mesmerizing green. Standing, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and walked over to the window.
“Hey, Alex. What’s up?”
“Paxton…”
Immediately, dread settled inside, a heavy, ugly weight, and I hooked a hand over my neck, staring outside. “What’s she done now?”
“She left to go run a few errands…or so she said. She never came back. That was like three hours ago and Carter is getting pretty upset. I was going to take her to the play myself, but the tickets for the show aren’t here and…well. She was really looking forward to spending the d
ay with her mom.”
Shit. I shifted my hand from my neck to my forehead, then pinched the bridge of my nose. So much for finishing up that last song. I was hoping to have something to show the guys on Monday, but that wasn’t going to happen. “Alright. Tell Carter I’ll be there soon. Look, if Brinke shows up…hell, just call me. And make sure you go with them if they go anywhere. I’ll catch up with you and take over, okay?”
“You got it. But you know she isn’t…” Alex didn’t finish.
She didn't have to. “I know.” Brinke wasn’t going to show. She was out partying. She’d already forgotten the plans she’d made with our daughter.
After disconnecting, I turned to Leslie. She was already gathering up her stuff, her face a carefully blank mask. “I’ve gotta go. Is there…do I need to sign stuff or anything to move forward from here?”
“No.”
She gave me a quick smile – the professional one she used almost every damn time she looked at me. I knew why she used it too. She felt the same tug I felt, only I was better at hiding it.
It was those eyes that gave her away.
“From here on out, a lot of the work is going to be mine. Well, up until it comes time to go to court.”
Court. It left a bad taste in my mouth. “I…look, I don’t want to keep Brinke away from Carter completely. She does love her.”
“I’m sure she does. But she’s also unstable. She…” Leslie sighed and set her bag on a chair.
This time, when she looked at me, there was no pretext or false smiles, nothing but seriousness – and concern, I realized. For a kid she didn’t even know. My kid. My heart gave an unsteady thump.
“You have to understand that she’s committed illegal acts that have placed your daughter in danger. I mean, I know you understand that. That’s what drove you to take action, isn’t it?”
